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The Lady Wiladera and the 
Hermit Edgar 


By Louis Zalk 


Privately Printed by The Pioneer Company 
Saint Paul, Minnesota 



Copyright, 1910 
by 


Louis Zalk 


C CI.A278712 



This little bo^ is dedicated 
to the livin^^ady VViladera 


4 


PREFATORY NOTE 

These pages are merely a record 
of certain thoughts and emotions 
that have lived in the past, and 
which will live in the future; as 
they do in the present. 














The Lady Wiladera and the 
Hermit Edgar 

PART ONE 


TENDER sadness sleeps 
in Beauty’s eye, a subtle 
sorrow that the inmost 
heart may feel. As, on 
the dreamy wakening of 
the summer morn, a fresh 
and fragrant mist gently kisses the 
opening eyelids of the flowers, or, as 
the rainbow hue that often slumbers in 
a tear, so does this faint elusive sadness 
breathe a sweet enchantment on the 
face of perfect loveliness. Beauty, too, 
strong with an ethereal rapture that is 
pain, becomes the crown and mantle 
of a perfect grief, and the tragic eyes 
of sorrow gaze with a haunting sweet- 
ness in the pool of tears. 



13 


THE LADY WILADERA 


So, too, are joy and sorrow strangly 
kin; for perfect happiness cannot 
supremely throb its nameless and ecsta- 
tic harmonies, within a heart that has 
not known the deeply surging chords of 
grief. Q Sorrow, weighed with tears, 
is but the dark, forbidding portal, 
through which we all must pass, to 
reach true happiness and the poppy 
fields of peace; and Joy, to keep its 
radiance fresh, must oftimes drink the 
bitter waters of the spring of Sorrow. 
So Wisdom, with an understanding 
heart, knows that Beauty, Joy and 
Sorrow are ever petals of the selfsame 
flower which must be plucked in turn. 
^Though a voiceless grief may quite 
enshroud the heart, and though the 
uttermost of dumb despair palls black 
against the hungry, hopeless night; oh, 
be sure, a roseate dawn must of a surety 
await. ^ Joy is a garden of fulfilled 
dreams, wherein we dream again. 

14 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


^Sorrow is a vantage high on which we 
all may climb, and there behold a vast 
horizon and a splendid goal; and 
gazing farther still, the undimmed 
vision may discern that Joy, which is 
fragrance and peace, and Beauty, which 
is harmony and hope, do ever follow 
Grief in an eternal circle. 

^ During a summer’s sojourn in the 
dim forest of Mittenwald, as a guest at 
the hunting lodge of a dear friend 
of mine, I heard the love story of the 
beautiful Lady Wiladera and the 
Hermit Edgar. The Barons of Mitten- 
wald were a rich and powerful line of 
nobles. Their deeds were no doubt 
many and great, and it seemed passing 
strange to me, that all which is remem- 
bered of them is the love story of the 
last of their line. 


15 


THE LADY WILADERA 


On a rugged hill, at the forest’s edge, 
I have seen the dismal ruins of their 
once great castle reposing in melan- 
choly disorder. I have seen it when 
the moonlight’s dainty lambent and 
enchanted green fell in a flood of weird 
splendor on the lonely broken walls 
and aisles, and crept deep amid the 
trees that grew in an open space, where 
once was the great hall. Ah, it was 
then it seemed to me, that the broken 
arches and scattered stones reached up 
with rude and gnarled hands ; and, 
groping blindly on the breast of mystery 
and the dark, did somehow grasp a 
wreath of spirit loveliness, which be- 
came a voice; and this voice murmured 
a song of more than human sadness, 
through which the silence of the ages 
throbbed with the pathos of forgotten 
things. 

Power and Pomp faint to weakness 
in the embrace of Time, and the rude 


16 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


clown may tread upon the dust of 
kings. Cities and empires blossom to 
the uttermost of splendor; then they 
wearied sink beneath the ceaseless rain 
of centuries. Buried cities sleep be- 
neath the mounds of Babylon, and 
dead civilizations stare with sightless 
eyes across the desert’s dust. ^ Time, 
the master alchemist, is ever molding 
the plastic future into the changeless 
past, and ever does he build the tomb 
of present greatness. All splendid works 
fade into dreams, and dreams become 
superbly true, within the all-transform- 
ing lap of time. 

In the heart of the forest, I have seen 
the cave where the hermit lived, and I 
even drank of the water of its near-by 
spring. I have looked upon the little 
lake, within the forest’s center, whose 
clearness held the solemn blue of the 
sky, and the varied green of the trees 
along its bank. ^ After some ques- 

17 


THE LADY WILADERA 


tioning among the folks in the near-by 
village, and after reading all of the 
writings of the hermit that still remain, 
I succeeded in piecing most of the story 
together. The rest I guessed; or was 
it whispered to me by the sad and 
gentle night breeze.? I do not know. 
It is a story of a perfect, deathless love, 
made seemingly hopeless by a perverse 
fate. Its beauteous sadness is ever at 
my heart, like the tender clinging touch 
of some dear token of a departed love, 
qit is the story of the love of a woman 
of surpassing sweetness, and of a wise 
hermit, whose wisdom fell off like a 
robe at the touch of love, and left him 
poor, and weak and cold, with a dim 
hope his only warmth and comfort. 
Her, it left beauteous and unafraid, for 
she possessed a hope greater than 
wisdom. ^ A love hopeless of earthly 
fulfillment is sometimes crowned and 
beautified by death. Their love was 
18 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


exalted by a parting, and yet it was a 
parting still more sad than death. 

Of the thoughts and passions of the 
hermit and of the Lady Wiladera, I 
may readily guess; for human hearts 
in love were then as now, and as they 
ever will be, the home of joy divine, or 
of a bitter, and a wildly sweet despair. 
^A love, denied, may touch the very 
heights of sentiment and depth of 
feeling; so I would tell of the seeming 
hopeless love of these two high-souled 
beings. Around their lives there must 
have been entwined, joys, pure and 
exalted — much of that haunting sweet- 
ness which is the very soul of beauty; 
and more of that sorrow not to be 
expressed in words or melody — much 
of the deeper wisdom that strives per- 
sistently to burst the brazen web of 
destiny, and all of that which is hope, 
so warm and strong that it may even 
reach beyond the walls of death. 


19 


THE LADY WILADERA 


Long ago, the Castle of Mittenwald 
stood in all its pride; its grim and lofty 
walls and towers spoke with a mute 
eloquence of the splendor, and of the 
greatness of the House of Mittenwald. 
Like a giant sentinel it had stood for 
many ages, overlooking a fertile plain 
on one side, and the deep forest on the 
other; all being the lands held by the 
Barons Mittenwald through unnum- 
bered generations. 

Within the stately chambers of the 
castle, at the time of this story, dwelt 
the widowed Baroness Mittenwald and 
her daughter, the Lady Wiladera, to- 
gether with their many servants and 
a large number of retainers and men 
at arms. 

Of the mother there is little to be said. 
She was a kind, gentle dame, and very 
lovable. Her whole life was wrapt 
around her daughter, the young and 
splendidly beauteous Lady Wiladera, 
20 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


whg was the real mistress of Mitten- 
wald. 

Of her it is a joy to write further. In 
attempting to describe her, I am aided 
by the hermit’s verses, which he named, 
“The Soul of the Rose,” wherein her 
beauty is the central theme. She was, 
at the time of this story, in the full 
beauty of her young womanhood. Yet 
how shall I describe her.? For true 
beauty is as elusive of human descrip- 
tion as are the thoughts of flowers, or 
the sweet meditations of the Seraphim. 
Still, I will try, being certain that the 
description will fall far short of her 
splendid loveliness. 

She was of medium height, and per- 
fectly fashioned. Her hair was golden, 
but of a living gold, like an imprisoned 
cluster of sunbeams. Upon her radiant 
face was the very living spirit of beauty. 
How shall I tell of the haunting witch- 
ery of its expression, or of the exquisite 

21 


THE LADY WILADERA 


glory of her smile? How shall I tell 
of her large and lustrous eyes, which 
were ever changing with her moods; at 
times burning and sparkling with a 
soft and gentle fire, or changing into 
deep wells of purity and calm, wide 
open as a child’s before a wondrous 
sight ? ^ There was a charm about her 
that was somehow more than beauty. 
Its expression was an exquisite grace, 
and its allurement, a subtle mystery, 
which seemed a spirit robe that covered 
other countless hidden charms. Like 
an exceedingly beautiful and rare flower, 
she dawned a nameless sweetness. 

I spoke of the beauties of her person, 
but the beauties of her mind and soul 
were no less. She was an accomplished 
musician, and could sing in a voice 
that held a divine sweetness, and which 
seemed to the listener to satisfy some 
inward craving of the heart. ^ She 
was learned in the most advanced 


22 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


thoughts of the day, and was a most 
enjoyable companion. With the frivo- 
lous, she was lightsome, witty and gay; 
with the learned, she was attentive and 
thoughtful — indeed, she matched their 
deepest thoughts with her own. She 
was very sympathetic, and although she 
had the hereditary pride of the noble 
family of Mittenwald, still was she 
gentle to her servants, and most kind 
to the peasantry that tilled her broad 
lands. ^ Of course, many noble and 
rich suitors came to seek her hand in 
marriage. They came to Mittenwald, 
but went their way disappointed; for 
not yet had she decided to entrust her- 
self to any one of them. She loved 
not any of her suitors, and her wisdom 
whispered, that, for one of her mind, it 
were far better to remain unwedded, 
than to wed without true love. ^ She 
had eyes that could truly see, and a 
heart which could understand. 


23 


PART TWO 


HE end of wisdom is to 
behold the true propor- 
tion of all things, and to 
attain a courage strong 
enough to hold them at 
their actual value, though 
it be against convention, or against the 
judgment of a multitude enslaved by 
autocratic custom. ^ The voice of 
those who scoff and jeer must soon 
be still. The multitude’s derision as 
quickly passes, as the transient things 
they value most. ^ Behold ! the swiftly 
fleeting years do level all distinction. 
^ Ambition’s pomp and show are piti- 
able and weak; for the night inevitable 
is coming swift. There is no splendor 
to the bubble that has burst; and, when 
upon their common couch they wearied 
sink at last, monarch and slave are 



24 



AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


equal handfuls of pathetic dust. ^ A 
greater wisdom should behold itself as 
but the threshold of a realm, where, 
above the host of seeming things, there 
sounds the throbbing of eternal truth. 

True wisdom is the gateway of an 
understanding wide and deep, whose 
meditation searches for the root of 
things. It strives to find that ancient 
primal cause, which now speaks in a 
myriad voices, and blossoms to a wil- 
derness of varied fragrances and color. 
Wisdom sees life’s purpose as a precious 
opportunity for larger growth, and it 
finds that the growing soul achieves 
an ever- widening horizon, and a greater 
capability for the love of larger mean- 
ing. Whatever fosters this upward 
growth, is good ; though it be the 
uttermost of grief and pain. What- 
ever dulls the larger life and stunts the 
growth, is evil; though it be content- 
ment and a gratified ambition. Con- 


THE LADY WILADERA 


tentment in itself should merely be a 
pause; the rest, whose ending marks 
the birth of further efforts and ambi- 
tions. 

Wisdom in itself may climb upward to 
successive heights, from the lower steps 
of what is mere reason, to the ethereal 
heights of inspiration. From that but 
feeble eminence, the crest and sequence 
of the proven things, wisdom boldly 
mounts upon the flashing wings of 
vision, to grasp some all-embracing 
truth, which otherwise would be impal- 
pable to material measure; thus the 
philosopher, in his upward growth, 
becomes the Seer and Prophet. flUp- 
on the tides of inspiration. Wisdom 
finds the very Source and Soul of 
Universal Law and Truth, and names 
it — God. It finds that His love, perfect 
and omnipotent, is manifest through 
the recurring cycles of eternity, in the 
impulse and the progress of creation — 
26 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


whose far flung depths enfold on differ- 
ent planes of growth — the countless 
conscious flowers of being — as they do 
the seeds of countless beings yet to 
come. 

The higher Wisdom sees the cause 
and aim of being. ^ Life is the road, 
and perfect love the end, towards which 
we travel through the countless days; 
each day a lifetime, and each night a 
sleep, more often misnamed death, 
whose folds, when parted, but reveal 
another splendid dawn and another day 
of travel to the God-like goal. 

True Wisdom measures values truly, 
and the strong in heart follow where 
she leads. 

Deep in the heart of the forest, in a 
cave of rocks on the side of a ravine, 
dwelt the young hermit Edgar, alone 

27 


THE LADY WILADERA 


with but his lofty thoughts and dreams. 
The cave was rude, and possessed of 
few comforts, but, without, the deep 
woods whispered gently in many tongue 
that the hermit could understand. The 
delicate ferns sighed to each other of 
many sweet nothings, and the imme- 
morial trees nodded to the fresh and 
fragrant winds. Near the cave, a cool 
spring murmured of its purity and 
sweetness, and everywhere, upon a 
thick, soft rug of grasses, a myriad 
baby-faced flowers, the embodied 
dreams of angels, lifted their innocent 
eyes unto the enraptured gaze of the 
hermit. 

In this cave, and amid these surround- 
ings, dwelt the hermit. He was im- 
measurably happy in his thoughts, and 
dreams, and meditations. He fared on 
a simple diet of roots and herbs, and 
he drank of the cool, sweet waters of 
the spring. He was happy — happy and 
28 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


contented, until he knew the Lady 
Wiladera. 

Now, this hermit was a young man, 
but a little older than the Lady Wila- 
dera. His appearance was of a com- 
mon order, although at times his coun- 
tenance must have held a distinction, 
born of the beauties and depths within 
his mind. His thoughts were high and 
noble. He was a poet, and his mind 
was inclined to mysticism and phil- 
osophy. ^ He lifted his heart to God, 
and found an infinite road to wisdom, 
joy, and loveliness. 

I gather all these things from some of 
the hermit’s writings, which still remain. 
I have pored over his verses and stories, 
and over the fragments of verses and 
stories. By their aid have I again 
attuned his broken lyre and mended, 
as best I might, its shattered frame. 
Though I may not touch its strings to 
their first strange harmony and depth, 

29 


THE LADY WILADERA 


yet I may bring forth an echo of their 
ancient sweetness; for I will speak at 
times with the hermit’s own words, 
and I will seek to live his very thoughts 
and dreams. 

He gazed deep within the eyes of 
Beauty’s self, and, lo, a new and 
wondrous robe clad everything with 
splendor. He would drink the dainty 
sweetness of the violets’ breath and find 
therein a sorrow too exquisite for 
expression. ^ For him, the nights beat 
down in soft, cool throbs of wondrous 
ecstacy. From a vast dome of azure, 
the stars looked down with tremulous 
sweet fire. The moon trailed her veil 
of shimmering silver on the lake, and 
shed a filmy haze, as of liquescent opal, 
on the forest. The trees upreared 
themselves as sentinels, in robes that 
softly rustled through the silent pauses; 
and, on the fragrance of the dreaming 
flowers, the gentle west wind sighed 
30 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


himself to sleep, and sighed within his 
dream. ^ Oh, the nights were strong 
with mystery and a loveliness enchanted ; 
while the days beheld, with lustrous 
orbs, a vista of never ending beauty, 
and of fresh delight. 

He felt the mute eloquence of all 
voiceless things, and could muse for 
hours on the wonder of a flower, a 
drop of water, or a blade of grass. 
He found the simple things were often 
most profound, whether it was a child- 
faced flower upon a lonely grave, or a 
crystal tear upon a withered lily’s 
breast. ^ At times, when bathed in 
the ethereal fragrance of his exalted 
dreams, he would fling his soul within 
the myriad portals of the future, and 
hear the tread of mighty generations 
yet unborn. He would sense strange 
bursts of music, as yet unheard, and 
waiting still within the dreamless silence. 
He beheld the coming science, with 

31 


THE LADY WILADERA 


clanging blows, strike off the veil on 
veil, that countless hide the very face 
of truth. He thrilled to find the 
master thought which could even draw 
the wondrous secrets from the distant 
stars. 

At times he seemed to stand alone upon 
a plot of ground, from which he beheld 
the mighty scheme of things. He saw 
the ceaseless changes that forever merge, 
as does the dusk into the dawn, and 
the dawn into the twilight. These 
changes, to his vision, were a circle of 
events; the means to some great end, 
which, when attained, was but a step 
unto another end; all marching to some 
glorious climax, itself a step upon an 
endless stairway to a light, glorious and 
ineffable. 

He searched for the vast measure of 
everything. He would lift his mind to 
where the unbound depths of space, 
o’erwhelm terrific suns into but tiny 

32 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


gems, upon its unconquered brow; and, 
searching farther, he would find these 
awful stretches, but the threshold of still 
greater depths, that endless reach, to 
find creation border on creation; until 
his reeling mind was hurled back by 
the too stupendous vista of the infin- 
ite. ^ He would search for God, and 
tremble to find — a boundless, all- 
embracing Vortex of unswerving Law 
and Truth, the Impulse and the End 
of things; an all-pervading Storm of 
conscious Love, resistless and unspeak- 
ably sublime, the Center and the 
Mantle of a universe of universes, 
wherein a myriad suppliant worlds do 
pass to some undreamed perfection. 
^ All the joy that is a part of wisdom, 
and the gentle, strange sadness that is 
ever a part of true beauty, seemed 
mingled in one goblet, of which he 
drank and drank. 

But at that time, he shrank from con- 


33 


THE LADY WILADERA 


tact with what he regarded as the 
world’s cruelty and selfishness; from its 
sordidness, its malice and its envy. 
^ He was utterly impatient of 
petty ambitions, distinctions and dis- 
play. Beauty and music, thoughts and 
dreams, were the true treasures he 
resolved to live for. ^ Though he 
knew it not, yet was he selfish in his 
own fashion, and not true to his deeper 
instincts; for I hold it true that all life 
must be lived among men, to yield, 
whate’er its beauty, to mankind. 

So this hermit, while too young to know 
its full meaning, had vowed to remain 
unwedded, and to spend his life in 
loneliness, so as to dream and meditate 
on the things of holiness and wisdom. 
He was young when he took this vow 
which might not be broken. He was 
young, and knew not of the quenchless 
flame of love that would burn within 
his soul when he should behold and 
know the Lady Wiladera. 

34 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


For, all this time before he met the 
Lady Wiladera, he lived in a dream 
world. Though he gazed within the 
myriad eyes of loveliness, and found in 
each a separate joy; though he knew 
the thrill of meditation on the beautiful 
and good; though his horizon was vast 
and deep; and though his heart had 
truly felt the fragile value of material 
things; yet with all these portals open 
to his vision, he still lacked that deeper 
understanding, whose only root is grief, 
and whose immortal blossoms are sym- 
pathy, humbleness and love. But love 
was coming, and with it grief, and 
a larger understanding. ^ Ah, but love 
is sweeter for its grief, and grief is 
calmer for its love; and both, united 
in the heart, may form a blessed 
spring of warmth and sympathy, that 
in sweetening other lives, attains a 
precious peace, itself. 


35 


PART THREE 


MOTION is the voice of 
the soul. An expression 
as of music, thought, or 
beauty, owes its being to 
an impulse born of some 
emotion of the soul, which 
ever seeks a means whereby others 
may receive, and understand its inward 
aspirations. ^ Love is the exquisite 
climax of emotion, a compelling har- 
mony resistlessly calling for a kindred 
harmony. It is a spring of mingled 
holy raptures, born of the meeting of 
two beings who may find fulfillment 
only in each other. It is a warm and 
beauteous hunger that is never sated or 
appeased. It is a soft, wild, radiant 
being swept upon a flood of music, 
deep and rich; a spirit whose eyes are 
fathomless and splendid; and who bears, 
upon a more than beauteous brow, an 
36 




AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


immortal wreath of flowers, named 
ecstacy, hope and sorrow; the mingled 
loveliness of which is far beyond all 
wisdom or expression. 

True love attains a consummation in 
the eternal union of two souls, who 
from the first were molded for each 
other; and who may together tread the 
endless paths of progress — through a 
myriad fields of loveliness — where joys 
and sorrows strangely mingle; two 
beings, twain yet one, who ever find 
new precious joys within each other, 
the while they travel towards the goal 
of perfect being. ^ Such a love is the 
very reflection of the Love of God, and 
therefore its continued growth within 
the heart may flower to embrace all 
mankind in the divine reaches of its 
aspirations. 


37 


THE LADY WILADERA 


As near as I can determine, it was on 
going through the forest with her 
mother and some servants, that the 
Lady Wiladera first met the hermit. 
She quickly guessed that he was the 
strange young recluse she had already 
heard about. Attracted by an idle 
curiosity, she spoke to him, and was 
surprised to find herself interested in 
his strange ways and in some of his 
thoughts, which, indeed, were in tune 
with her own. As for the poor 
hermit, he yielded himself at once to a 
new rapture that dazzled him with its 
supreme loveliness. Now at last he 
knew love, and his former life, which 
he once considered so full, seemed but 
the threshold of the larger life that 
stretched before him.* 

Thereafter, at her bidding, he came 
often to the Castle Mittenwald. The 
Lady Wiladera and her dear, gentle 
mother would converse with this hermit 


38 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


on many things, and seemed pleased 
with his thoughts and speech. 

I must here describe his love. To 
such a heart as his, love must have 
been a wondrous thing. I have read 
his tales of the loves of other men, and 
in them no doubt he described his own. 
I will pluck their strong, sweet fervor, 
their compelling sweetness, and their 
haunting melody and sadness, to de- 
scribe the love of their author. 

His heart seemingly held the strings of 
a lyre, which throbbed forth his love 
and sorrow in immortal songs. The 
Lady Wiladera became all of his 
horizon. He was conscious of the 
strange feeling that somehow he had 
loved her in the past — as now he would 
through all the future. The joy and 
beauty of his former life were only 
heralds of her coming. ^ His love for 
her seemed all loves, merged in one. 
It held the love of a father for his child. 


39 


THE LADY WILADERA 


and of a child for the parent; the love 
of a brother for a sister; the love of a 
dreamer for his sweetest dream; and 
the strong, full, human love of a strong 
man for the one woman who alone 
could be his mate. ^ This was true 
love, not its semblance. It was not the 
mere desire for possession, so oft mis- 
taken for love. He would have been 
happy to die for her, or to live but for 
her. He would have gladly toiled in 
the depths of hell, if by so doing he 
could have kept her happy in heaven. 
His was a complete and eternal love 
which could not know physical change 
or misfortune, but which must look to 
all eternity for its complete fulfillment. 

The hermit in his time was a master 
of expression; yet words seemed to fail 
him when he sought to tell of his love. 
Indeed, who can describe such a 
passion, so perfect in its heights of 
rapturous adoration, yet so hopeless of 
40 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


an earthly fulfillment? ^ It was a 
radiant universe, whose ever - multi- 
plying depths were to be eternally 
beyond the reaches of his soul. Yet 
he well knew that its eager songs of 
joy must sink into a dirge; and that its 
wilderness of fragrant flowers would 
soon be heaped upon the grave of his 
ill-founded hopes. 

His love grew. It became more than 
mortal strong, and perfect in the con- 
scious grandeur of its eternity. Floods 
of a nameless rapture swept their 
warmth and sweetness to the inmost 
reaches of his heart. Ah, but these 
floods of ecstacy were strong, and 
sweet, and gentle; strong as the waves 
of destiny; sweet with an overmastering 
hunger of the soul; and gentle as the 
sigh of dying flowers, upon the bier of 
a departed joy. 

He knew his love was seemingly hope- 
less; a vow as strong as death had 


41 


THE LADY WILADERA 


raised a barrier that must keep him 
silent. ^ He would return to his now 
lonely cave, and her white spirit seemed 
to lead him through the deep, dim 
solitudes of the forest aisles. The 
cool, moist fingers of the soft descend- 
ing night would touch his brow as 
though it was a caress from her dear, 
dear hands. He would lie down to 
sleep, and it was but a sweet waking 
dream of her. When he stepped forth 
from his cave in the morning, he beheld 
her in the fresh beauty of the dawn; 
and he heard her voice in the gentle 
sighing of the wind amid the flowers. 
It was a sweet, sad thing — this hopeless 
passion; but, with hands grown tender 
as a clinging vine, he folded it ever 
closer to his hungry heart. 

He knew — ah, none so well as he — the 
affront that a declaration of love from 
him would mean to her proud nature. 
He felt that he had not the right to 

42 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


speak, although silence was eating his 
heart out. Even were his vows not in 
the way, he held himself as most 
unworthy of her who was sought by so 
many worthy men in her own circle. 
He felt that he must be silent ; for if he 
spoke, she might forbid him from 
seeing her, which would leave him 
miserable as well as desolate. ^ As 
it was, he could see her at times, and 
hear the dear music of her voice, while 
her smile was in his heart, like a 
glorious sunbeam in a house of gloom. 
Ah, but her smile was as the molten 
dawn pouring its radiant sweetness 
within the trembling chalice of his soul. 
^ Time passed, and the hermit still 
came to the castle. He tried with all 
his strength to appear cheerful, and to 
hide his love. He appeared happy^ 
though his was now a soul that bore a 
secret sorrow, and his a heart heavy 
with the weight of unshed tears, Af- 


43 


THE LADY WILADERA 


ter each visit to the castle, how he 
longed for the days to fleet by so that 
it might be seemly for him to come 
again. His heart and soul cried out 
to her, and in his grief he thought she 
must listen. ^ There were times when 
he would even believe she loved him, 
and then the days would be glad with 
a superbly tender glory, and the nights 
would melt to a supreme delicious 
rapture beneath the moon — beneath 
the moon. Upon a flood of ecstacy 
divine, his soul would reach to her, 
upon the trembling silence. 

And then the reality of his position 
would rush upon him, to leave him 
cold, and dull, and nearly hopeless. 
How could she care for him, more than 
for a friend It seemed too improb- 
able to be considered. It seemed more 
likely to him that some proud queen 
would leave her high estate to love a 
beggar. He felt that she was inter- 


44 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


ested in him, and was his friend. To 
hope for more than her friendship, 
seemed madness. 

If material obstacles only would have 
been before him, the hermit felt he 
could have surmounted them all. To 
what heights could he not have climbed ? 
He felt he could have reached the very 
gates of the stars, had she been there. 
But it seemed he could do nothing, 
nothing but wait. Yet his soul whis- 
pered there was something he could 
do, and that was to ever make himself 
more worthy to love her; to conquer 
what pettiness there might be in his 
nature; to make himself big, and 
strong, and fit to love so sweet a lady. 
^ Now as it so happened, the Lady 
Wiladera did love the hermit Edgar, 
with a love as strong as his own, and 
wildly bitter sweet, because she knew 
it was forbidden. It was inevitable 
that two young people so completely in 

45 


THE LADY WILADERA 


tune, should love each other. They 
were beautifully mated in every quality 
that would have made a perfect and 
divine union. She tasted of supreme 
bitterness in the knowledge that love to 
her was forbidden in the only place 
where she could completely give it. 

She loved him. What more need be 
said ? All of the infinite sweetness and 
warmth of her nature burst to a 
beautiful flower. An ecstacy of dreams 
and an infinite tenderness ruled her 
heart. He seemed to answer her high- 
est and most beautiful aspirations. He 
was the man who was naturally her 
mate, and she longed to rest her head 
upon his breast to find a happiness and 
peace beyond expression. 

Oftimes, to her fancy, he seemed more 
than man; and she beheld him as a 
spirit minister not of this earth — a 
being, splendid beyond all earthly 
splendor or description. He stood, and 

46 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


his height was above the stature of the 
sons of men; and his broad pinions of 
light were dazzling in their beauteous 
ever-changing hues. His raiment was 
an unnamed glory, and his countenance 
was alight with mystery and with the 
passion of a mighty dream. His eyes 
were luminous with the wisdom of 
forbidden things, and calm with a 
power that is born from searching for 
the very heart of truth — and ever were 
they burning with a wondrous love- 
light, deep within her own. 

And then he would stand before her 
weak and discredited, a man who had 
foolishly sold his birthright of love; a 
man who had sworn her happiness 
away and his own, for less than ajjsong, 
and this a song of his own music. The 
spirit of the proud Mittenwalds was 
hers also, and at such times she was 
most angry with him. 

Had his vow not been in the way, she 

47 


THE LADY WILADERA 


would have little considered the differ- 
ence in their stations. There was no 
possibility of breaking his vow, as it 
might not be broken by an honorable 
or a good man. From the hermit’s 
own description, it was the holiest, the 
most solemn and binding, that a man 
might swear. To break it would have 
been to make him utterly unworthy to 
even be in her presence. She, and all 
men knew this perfectly; so her heart 
towards him was filled with changing 
passions of love, a sad hopelessness, 
and, of times, as strong an anger as her 
gentle breast could hold. ^ She knew 
well that he loved her passionately and 
devotedly, and through her grief she 
was gloriously happy in the knowledge. 
She desired intensely that he declare 
his love; yet she feared it, and so 
strange are women that she would have 
been most angry had he spoken. 

The days came and glided by like 
48 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


phantom figures in a dream, and still 
the hermit visited the castle. They 
would speak on many things of mutual 
interest and find an untold sweetness 
in the joy forbidden, of their complete 
harmonious sympathy, At times she 
sang most gloriously, accompanying 
herself on an antique harp. They 
were ancient love songs, and strangely 
sweet. They twined themselves around 
his heart, and their caresses lingered 
in repeated echoes. ^ At times his 
thoughts would throng back, and he 
would speak to her of his conception of 
things. He was happy when he spoke 
thus. His very heart and soul flowered 
into expression, while she would silently 
gaze at him with deep and lustrous 
eyes. 

He would find a deeper beauty in all 
loveliness, and draw a lofty meaning, 
even from the inglorious and obscure. 
He would trace the kinship of all 


49 


THE LADY WILADERA 


harmonies and lead them to one glori- 
ous, central source. He found a perfect 
justice, awful in exactness and immen- 
sity, that ruled the falling leaf, or 
sustained a constellation’s terrific sweep 
amid the trackless heavens. ^ Behold ! 
this justice shapes man’s destiny and 
gives him immortality, as surely as it 
gave him life. The soul of man doth 
bear a heritage of endless growth, 
whose progress calls for endless space, 
and for eternity. This justice then 
must give him both, or the universe 
becomes a chaos more stupendous than 
the thought of man may bear. 

In his belief, our dearest hopes and 
dreams — our fondest aspirations — the 
song imprisoned in our hearts that 
vainly strives for utterance — the soul’s 
persistent longing for loved ones passed 
beyond the veil, are all a living force 
that must be sublimely answered with 
a glorious consummation. ^ The pure 

50 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


and constant hunger of the soul becomes 
a potent seed, whose essence holds 
that same creative principle, which on 
a grander scale hurls forth a living 
golden planet from the night primordial. 
Thus we may form the root whose cer- 
tain growth and flower will somewhere 
and at some time, through the ample 
leisure of our destinies, return a sweet 
fulfillment to our highest aspirations. 
He would strive to prove that all which 
is pure and good cannot be lost. The 
beauteous thought and prayer — the 
unselfish hope — the lofty idea, would 
echo on through space and time, to 
live, perhaps in the beauty of some 
flower, in the magic of some pleasing 
fragrance, or in the harmony of some 
exquisite song. 

In his belief, the soul of man progresses 
through successive lives to earn the 
beauties and the truths within the 
exhaustless treasure house of God. 


51 


THE LADY WILADERA 


The lessons learned, the truths pos- 
sessed, are not and cannot be forgotten. 
The record of the countless incidents 
which are of the past live within us as 
effects that form our present stature 
and horizon. The present value of 
each soul is its memory of past lives; 
the lessons and achievements upward 
of today build the future state and 
stature. 

He held that the punishment of evil 
is immediate, in a dimming of the 
vision, in a warping of the soul, and 
in a lesser capability for loveliness and 
joy. The reward of virtue and unself- 
ishness is an enlargement of the horizon 
and a deeper spring of fragrance, love 
and beauty. ^ And then he would 
speak of love; ah, then he truly coined 
his inmost heart to words, burning, 
beautiful and tender; while she looked 
on and wondered, her heart touched 
to sweet fire, and to a mystic pain. 


52 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


^ So he thought and so he spoke. 
Yet his hour of trial had come, and 
thought is weak before the strength of 
love and grief. Though faith be sure 
and firm upon exalted tides of inspira- 
tion, yet must the strongest heart 
shrink back appalled, to sickly reel 
before that plunge irrevocable, which 
barters the certain treasures of human 
joy for an Ideal, that even hope may 
but dimly see beyond the ever -silent 
folds of death. 

Events shaped their usual course at 
the castle. The daily duties were per- 
formed, attended by the same petty 
obstacles, or pleasures. ^ The days 
marched on and died away to memory 
and to silence. Now the castle was 
gay with visitors ; then again it resumed 
its former circle of events and duties. 
Never, apparently, was the Lady Wila- 
dera gloomy or depressed. Always her 
laughter sounded its matchless music. 

53 


THE LADY WILADERA 


Ever was she gay and joyous, and 
delightfully entertaining to her guests 
and to the suitors, who still came and 
departed, She loved the hermit and 
knew her love to be hopeless of an 
earthly happiness, yet never did her 
splendid spirit falter. She was too 
proud to show the wound within her 
heart; so no laugh was more gay than 
hers. ^ The hermit, too, was strong 
enough to affect a cheerfulness. They 
both felt alike that none must know 
their sorrow, and though the cup was 
supremely bitter, yet they resolved to 
drink it with a smile and jest. ^ The 
days fled by to sleep on memory and 
oblivion; but a growth such as the 
love within their hearts could not long 
remain concealed from each other. It 
broke above the sod of convention to 
blossom forth in the beauty of a 
wondrous garland; one that could either 
sigh its sweetness upon the grave of 

54 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


happiness, or smile in wondrous glad- 
ness on a blessed union of two hearts 
in happy marriage. 

At last the hermit grew to feel that he 
must make known his love for the 
Lady Wiladera, but in such a way as 
should not offend her, but leave him 
free to come and see her as before. 
He felt he could not pass her by like a 
dim star, swept within the endless 
void. He would but once show the 
deathless radiance of his love, and then 
wait; he would wait for all eternity, 
confident that God would give her love 
to him some time. He felt that this 
unselfish deathless love within his heart 
would be crowned with a complete 
fulfillment somewhere. ^ He felt he 
must speak, and then live his life, 
looking and praying for an opportunity 
to serve her. 

He must speak, and yet he shrank 
from a direct avowal of love. There 


55 


THE LADY WILADERA 


was so much to be said, that he dis- 
trusted his powers of expression. He 
groped for thoughts and words to 
translate the sublime song within his 
heart, and he prayed for wisdom, and 
an opportunity. 



56 


PART FOUR 


PON the darkly surging 
tides we float, and dream, 
beneath a star that peeps 
through troubled clouds, 
alone. O blessed hope! 

O dearest star! whose 

beam, though oftimes faint and far, 
still trembles sweetly to some hidden 
spring within our hearts, to leave a 
warm and fragrant message there. 

^ The very essence of hope is its 

ever-presence in the heart. ^ It is an 
ever-living memory of the soul, scorn- 
ing reason in its fundamental inborn 
knowledge that all our highest yearn- 
ings will be realized in joy. Hope 
throws a portal open to the farthest 
heights, and to the largest destiny; it 
even throws its glorious shaft of light 
beyond the grave. ^ From behind the 
veil there sounds a golden voice of 

57 




THE LADY WILADERA 


promise, and across this greatest gulf, 
hope throws a silvery stairway. 


000J0000J0J0^0J0J0J0J0J0^^ 


At length, when many days, and weeks, 
and months had passed, each weighed 
with its own trembling hopes, and 
doubts, and fears, the hermit seemed 
to find a way of speech. ^ In one of 
the tales written by the hermit, I find 
what must have been the method he 
used in declaring his love. It seemed 
rather a fanciful way, but one that 
might have been used by a man of his 
type, whose vision was clouded by 
anxiety and grief, If his plan was 
to declare his love in such a manner as 
to leave him free to continue his visits 
to the castle, it did not succeed. 
After the hermit’s declaration of love, 
they parted; and it was best so. Their 
58 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


lives had centered to a climax that for 
such souls as theirs could only mean 
a parting. 

It was on the morning of a date fateful 
for both of them. Outside, the sky 
was clouded with a coming storm. 
When Edgar found the Lady Wiladera, 
she was in one of her own bright and 
cheery rooms within the castle. She 
was seated on a low couch, over which 
was flung a silken rug. One exquisite 
arm and hand rested on her antique 
golden harp; the other held the long 
stem of a crimson rose. He gazed 
upon her splendid beauty, and deep 
within her wondrous eyes, until his 
heart seemed bursting with its restrained 
hunger, and with the strong and name- 
lessly enchanting sweetness of her 
presence. 

First they spoke of many of the usual 
lighter things, and the Lady Wiladera 
seemed in a strange mood of sadness 

59 


THE LADY WILADERA 


that also held a measure of impatience. 
Resolved to speak, he offered to repeat 
a tale he had heard of the perfect love 
of two beings, who were doomed by 
fate to live apart. ^ Her heart told 
her what was coming, and half in fear 
she nodded to him to begin. He spoke, 
and in a story, veiled yet open, he 
described his plight. He spoke, and 
every atom of his being and his love 
strove for a full expression. 

The tale was of a man who wedded in 
his youth, and, when too late, found 
that a boyish fancy was not love. As 
often happens in such a case, this man 
then met one perfectly his mate and 
loved her. Yet his honor kept him 
silent, and his sense of duty not only 
kept him true, but even kind to the 
one whom he had wedded, and who 
still loved him. ^ He spoke of 
this other man’s plight and so sought 
to tell his own. With all the fervor 


60 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


and eloquence he was master of, 
he spoke of this other man’s death- 
less and unselfish love; of his infinite 
tenderness for his loved one; of his 
pure worship of her, and of his hopes 
and prayers but for her happiness. It 
was a love both strongly human and 
divine, kept dumb and impotent because 
of a vow as strong as death, and 
because of a heart that would not, 
and could not, taste of happiness, over 
the tears and anguish of another. 
Thus the hermit spoke and weaved 
the plight of this other man, kept 
silent and inactive even over his break- 
ing heart. He ended, and the tears 
that trembled in his voice arose unto 
his eyes. 

While the tale might not be so received, 
yet his voice and manner was a tale 
of love no woman could mistake. On 
first understanding the meaning of his 
story, the Lady Wiladera turned white 

61 


THE LADY WILADERA 


as death, and then a glorious blush 
mounted to her face and spread even 
to her brows. As he told the story of 
this hopeless love, the quivering fingers 
of her hand crushed every petal of the 
rose, and within her eyes a tenderness 
divine struggled with a hopeless sad- 
ness. ^ He ended and she answered 
not. She could not speak from the 
fullness of her heart, and from the 
sweet, bitter joy at hearing his thinly 
veiled tale of love. She felt that she 
must do something, though she knew 
not what; so she lifted to her breast 
that ancient golden harp. With the 
strength of love and despair her fingers 
swept across its strings. 

It was a grand melody that she brought 
forth. It seemed to have its birth in 
a night of storm and danger, and then, 
with a theme of exquisite sadness 
creeping ever through its mazes, it 
sank from storm to a gentle, plaintive 
62 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


sighing, as of the voice of reeds at 
night unto the river. In low, sad 
tones it thrilled and spoke a more than 
mortal sorrow, that vainly reached 
unto some distant star for peace. And 
then it swelled into a chant trium- 
phant, as of a love whose strength had 
burst the gates of death asunder; out — 
out it swept in grandeur, like some 
great fleet of war; and then it slowly 
sank its harmony to silence, in an 
undiscovered realm of fulfilled dreams. 
And then she stood and sang. Ah, 
will he ever forget that song.^^ Her 
liquid golden notes divinely rich and 
strong, throbbed with yearning passion 
and a grief that clothed itself within a 
sweetly haunting splendor. Like a 
master’s hand upon the harp, they 
smote his heart, which answered fully 
to the burden of her splendid sorrow- 
qit was finished, and for a space all 
was silent. The restrained love and 


63 


THE LADY WILADERA 


grief of these many months were both 
storming at her heart. She was a 
Mitten wald, and at this moment the 
blood of her race surged and strove 
against the fate that seemed hers. 
Somehow her mingled and intense 
emotions resolved themselves to anger 
at this man, and, in a voice vibrant 
with passion and with bitter meaning, 
she spoke thus: 

‘T know well, sir hermit, your meaning 
and the intention of your words. Oh, 
it is weak, pitiably weak of you, and 
unmanly, to whimper forth such a 
tale. Your mooning and your dream- 
ing are but cold comforts — ^so it seems, 
and in your hour of trial, your wisdom 
vanishes, your philosophy is dumb, and 
weakly you cry for but a woman’s love. 
Havihg been unbalanced and wrong in 
life’s course, you now lean upon the 
wall of your vague hopes and beg for 
a sympathy, which could only be the 


64 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


foundation of your broken vows, and 
tarnished honor. As a philosopher 
and a poet you were interesting to me, 
as a man and a lover you are but a 
jest, a poor jest, and the very prince of 
fools. Go back to your empty cave 
and to your far-off stars and con- 
stellations, and let me see your face 
no more.” She ended with passion, 
white to the lips. 

He heard her as though he were in 
some awful dream; but his broken 
strength gathered itself for a last 
effort, and brokenly he said: 

‘T go. Lady — I go, and my poor presence 
will offend your sight no more. I 
say though, that my love for you is 
no mean thing, but beyond your cen- 
sure, as, alas! it seems beyond your 
pity, or your praise. There is nought 
for me to say but — ^farewell!” his 
voice sank almost to a whisper, '‘noth- 
ing more, only farewell.” ^ Like a 

65 


THE LADY WILADERA 


man suddenly blinded, he staggered 
from the room and through the court- 
yards of the castle, while she caught 
at her heart, swayed dizzily, and 
without a cry fell forward in a swoon. 
^ The storm that first had threatened 
now burst with almost a tropic fury. 
The hermit groped his way adown the 
path to the forest, almost blinded by 
the repeated flashes of the lightning. 
He plunged within, his heart torn with 
a turmoil which was in tune with the 
savage play of the lightning; with the 
peal on peal of the deep-throated 
thunder, and with the steady pour of 
rain. The wind rushed madly through 
the swaying treetops and the whole 
forest seemed torn with the uproar; 
but no more torn and bruised than the 
heart of the hermit. The pent-up 
grief of his soul had overflooded — he 
could not think; he could only feel. 
The rain came down in sheets, and he 


66 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


lifted his face and breast to it and was 
glad. He stumbled on and reached 
his cave. How, he knew not. In a 
frenzy of despair, such as he had never 
known before, he fell forward on his 
face, his fevered temples buried in the 
wet grass, his hands clutching at the 
sod. And so, filled with a wild pain 
and blank despair, he lay, while the 
wind mourned wildly through the trees, 
and the rain fell with the passion of a 
strong man’s tears. 

The Lady Wiladera recovered from 
her swoon, and called the hermit’s 
name again and again. The storm 
was on, and her gentle heart was 
stricken with the knowledge that she 
had sent him away at such a time and 
had repulsed him with such cruel 
words — words that she meant not, but 
had spoken in the bitterness of her 
heart, with a sudden and unreasoning 
woman’s anger. She loved him, and 


67 


THE LADY WILADERA 


her love made her forget aught else, 
except that she had sent this man away 
in a manner as harsh as that of the 
elements outside. 

With no other thought than to reach 
him, she too went out into the tempest, 
and stumbling down the hill she ran 
within the forest. Recklessly she 
plunged on, not heeding the wet 
branches, or the stones and brush of 
the unfamiliar paths. Drenched of 
the rain and with her robes torn, she 
ran deeper and deeper into the forest; 
her only thought to find this man she 
loved. Her heart was in a state that 
cared little for the angry elements. 
For hours she searched for the cave, 
and, at length, weary and woefully 
bedraggled, she reached it. 

The storm had now subsided, and the 
day was like a sullen child after its 
tears. The Lady Wiladera eagerly 
called the hermit’s name, tremulously 
68 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


at first, then louder. Half dazed, he 
arose, and scarce believed his senses at 
seeing her there. How could she, who 
had lately been so angry with him, 
have braved the storm, and the wet, 
unknown forest paths, merely to reach 
him ? ^ She, womanlike, was smooth- 
ening out her torn robes, and arranging 
the golden glory of her hair in its 
accustomed knot. Her bitter words 
were forgotten : in amazement and with 
a tender pity the hermit looked at her, 
wonder and love struggling in his 
eyes, while she blushed a lovely crimson 
at his gaze. 

“Lady,” he faltered, “this must be a 
dream, a dear, sweet vision, that, alas, 
too soon must fade, to leave me 
desolate as before. Oh, stay awhile, 
sweet dream, to cheer my aching heart 
with the warmth and divine sweetness 
of your presence. Speak to me, O 
tender spirit, whose wondrous eyes do 

69 


THE LADY WILADERA 


seem to pity the despair and anguish 
of my heart. Oh, speak! for I would 
drink of the satisfying melody of your 
voice, and gain a precious peace.” 
And then he stepped slowly forward, 
as though afraid she might vanish 
from his sight. 

Within her eyes there came a lovely 
tender light; sadly and gently she 
spoke: “This is no spirit of your 
fancy, Edgar, but the living Wiladera. 
I come to ask forgiveness for the harsh 
words I spoke to you. I meant them 
not, for oh, dear heart, I love you! 
even as strongly and as fully as you 
love me, and with a love as hopeless 
of an earthly fulfillment as is your own. 
It was this hopelessness that put the 
sudden and unjust anger towards you 
within my heart. I come to ask for- 
giveness, to hear again your sweet 
words of love, and then to say farewell.” 
^ “Dear Lady,” he said, “there is 

70 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


nought to forgive. My heart is nearly 
bursting with its mingled joy and pain, 
to hear your gracious, tender words. 
That you love me, fills me with a 
splendid joy unspeakable, and a happi- 
ness so keen that it becomes a pain — 
that we must part, perhaps forever, 
fills me with a sorrow, too deep for 
words or tears. Oh, if my love could 
but become a song, and if the wound 
within my heart did have a tongue, 
why, I could breathe a symphony of 
love and grief, as deep, and sad, and 
tender, as the kiss of death. I can 
only say, I love you, dear Lady! I 
worship and adore you with a love 
beyond my farthest understanding! 
You are to me all loveliness and music; 
you are to me all fragrance and all 
peace. All that I am, all that I can 
be, are yours, and yours forever. What 
words I say, alas, do seem so poor 
and so inadequate. I could blindly 


71 


THE LADY WILADERA 


grope within the casket of my heart 
and pluck each, every flower; I could 
seize all the treasures of my soul, and 
lay them at your dear feet. I could 
spend an eternity in giving my love 
for you expression in immortal works, 
and be immeasurably happy in the 
service. You are forever the radiance 
and the rapture of my world; in life 
as in death, you are my sweet, sweet 
queen.” 

He finished, all his soul within his eyes, 
and she answered, “These are sweet 
words, dear Edgar, for a woman to 
hear from the man she loves. Oh, 
every pulse of my being answers sweetly 
to your passion, and your hunger finds 
a faithful echo in my heart. Alas, in 
honor we may not be together, and in 
dishonor we could never pluck the 
full-blown flowers of joy, or even keep 
unstained the precious mantle of our 
deathless love; so we must part. Would 

72 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


that we could live our lives together, 
within a harmony as of a perfect 
chord. Would that we could grasp 
a happiness, supreme and beautiful, 
within the warm fullness of each other’s 
love. Would that we twain could float 
together on our ship of dreams, out — 
out, upon the boundless ocean of our 
love. Would that together we could 
work, and love, and dream, and find 
a nameless joy within each other’s 
eyes. But this, alas! alas! is not God’s 
will. The altar of our love must for 
a time be desolate and still; and we 
can only leave upon its sacred breast 
the tribute of our deepest tears, and 
say, farewell. Yet let us hope that 
this our present grief will give birth to 
a flower of immortal sweetness, and 
that our parting is but the darkness 
which soon must roll away, to reveal the 
dawn of our perfect union.” 

Thus she spoke, and hid her tear- 
stained face within her hands. 


73 


THE LADY WILADERA 


‘‘Lady,” he said brokenly, and his 
face bore a look of mortal anguish, 
“dear Lady, it is hard — so hard, to 
find this priceless jewel of love, only 
to cast it in the sea of self-denial. Our 
love is hopeless, then, — ^yes, hopeless 
quite. You are too much my very 
soul, and I am shaken to the very 
core by trembling doubts and chilling 
fears. In this dark hour, how uncer- 
tain and far reaching seems the hope 
that looks for other lives! Oh, strong 
must be the hope that can only look 
for its fulfillment beyond the darkness 
of the grave! It is hard; and doubly 
so for you, dear heart, who might have 
chosen of the princes of the land, to 
cast your love on me, like a glorious 
mantle over the body of a slave, who 
can only answer with an empty tale. 
Oh, this is far more bitter than a 
thousand deaths! In this life, alas, 
the roses of happiness are not for us; 


74 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


and the future seems a drear, uncertain 
path. Yes, we must part, and oh, 
would that death lies near across my 
way!” 

But she, her glorious eyes brightening 
with a courage high and firm, cheered 
him on. 

‘‘Fie! oh, fie! on you, sir philosopher,” 
she said. “Is this poor mood the end 
of all your wisdom and your knowl- 
edge Is this the soul whose daring 
swept beyond the realms of human 
thought and flamed a glorious path 
through undiscovered skies ? Is this 
broken staff, the strength of which you 
once did boast; and this, the courage 
built on your inspired loneliness and 
dreams ? You have taught that the 
spring of sorrow ever flows at the root 
of all true loveliness and joy, and that 
death itself is but the closing of a day 
at school for each immortal soul upon 
the eternal road of progress. And 

75 


THE LADY WILADERA 


now, when night, and grief, and death, 
do whisper sad and low of secret 
things, you shrink affrighted at a time 
when through your wisdom, the glory 
of God should speak in loud and 
beautiful tones that this, our anguish, 
is but a passing trial. Now when you 
need them most, let not your former 
thoughts and meditations be for nought. 
Oh, can you even for a moment doubt 
there is a loving God whose certain 
justice will requite our aching hearts 
with joy ? Oh, let us mold this sorrow 
— as of a certainty we may — so that 
from its depths resistless tides may 
swell, to bear our lives to heights of 
grandeur, and to a love that from its 
human seed will grow immortal and 
divine. I say to you: stand up — cease 
dreaming — quit your cave and go out 
into the world, amid the affairs of men. 
Speak to them of your high ideals and 
thoughts. Let a divine radiance and 


76 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


a sweet hope fall from the splendor of 
a life made holy in acts, as first it was 
in dreams. Be a soul of fire amid the 
mists arising from the world’s keen 
woe. Devote yourself to splendid 
deeds, as well as thoughts; and so, 
forgetting self, with hands outstretched 
to help your fellow men, you may even 
grasp that immortal wreath of fame, — 
and the world will call you blessed.” 
^ His eyes brightened at her splendid 
stirring words. Oh, but her sweetness 
was divinely warm and strong, and at 
its spell his former strength came back 
in floods of ecstacy and radiant hope 
renewed, while she continued : 

‘‘Keep up a steadfast heart; live but 
your own teachings; remember that I 
shall be waiting to hear great things 
of you; so let this knowledge be your 
strength and resolution. Go, live your 
life and I will live mine — and let us 
both pray that God will shorten the 

77 


THE LADY WILADERA 


days of our separation, and that soon 
our hearts may be forever united.” 
^ Now he was calm again, warmed 
by her high courage and noble words. 
His heart was filled with love and 
worship, and tenderly he said: 

“Great and sweet words, dear Lady, 
and fitting to so grand and sweet a 
source. You shame me with your 
greater strength. I will work and 
strive as you say; and though our love 
ends now in but a parting, yet how I 
thank high Heaven that I was blessed 
to know you, and to love you. Oh, 
believe me, dear love, my life will be 
as a book, dedicated to your sweet self, 
and I will strive to make that book 
worth while. I will ever pray to God 
to send you peace and happiness, 
fragrance and joy — ^here and all here- 
after. I will pray for help to be 
worthy of serving you, and of the 
blessed privilege of loving you forever. 

78 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


And somewhere, and at sometime, God 
will surely unite our severed lives, into 
the perfect joy of an eternal ^marriage. 
Until then, farewell, dear heart! fare- 
well.” 

And as he bowed his head, she gently 
kissed his brow, and then turned and 
glided swiftly to within the forest. 
But once she turned and waved her 
hand, and then disappeared amid the 
trees, fading from his sight, as does 
the passing of a sweet dream. 

The hermit stood as though wrapt in 
a glorious ecstacy. A long while thus 
he stood; then he turned away from 
the cave and walked through the 
forest — and out into the world. On 
his face was the wonder of an infinite 
tenderness, and the light of a great and 
splendid resolution. 

And thus they parted, and it is said 
that each lived worthy of that parting 
and their love. 


79 


THE LADY WILADERA 


Of the Lady Wiladera’s later life, 
much may be said — or little — even as 
a sentiment of exquisite beauty, and of 
hope, may either form a volume’s 
central theme, or find an apt expression 
in a single phrase, Her life was a 
sweetly radiant song of joy, and an 
inspiration to the high and noble. 
Ever, she was serene and sympathetic, 
and ever beautiful in all that is the 
soul of beauty. The years sped on, 
and with them also came the night; 
yet was she ever lovely and supremely 
unafraid. Through time and change, 
within her heart, there was a glorious 
and eternal shrine, where her true 
love reigned and lived forever. 

I cannot find whether or not the Lady 
Wiladera and the hermit met again. 
If they did, what could they have done 
more than speak again in tender words 
of their ever-living love and hope; what 
more than look a world of love and 


80 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


meaning in each other’s eyes — and 
part again ? 

Many years have passed since these 
two lived, and loved, and parted. Some 
there are would call them fools, who 
should have forgotten vows and honor, 
and have known no higher law than 
the earthly union of their hearts. Yet 
are the words of the Lady Wiladera 
true. There cannot be a lasting happi- 
ness built on selfishness and broken 
vows, ’Tis better far to live upon 
the high cold, peaks of loneliness, 
cheered by a blessed hope that rests 
secure upon a living faith, than to 
tread those empty mocking valleys of 
a fulfilled desire, whose happiness is 
is poisoned by a sickening memory. 
Perfect love is the end, and perfect 
love must have no stain upon its 
radiant garb. ^ God is good, and 
surely there cannot be born within the 
human breast a noble aspiration or a 


81 


THE LADY WILADERA 


perfect love, without the answer of 
a glorious fulfillment somewhere, and 
at some time. If the joyful harvest 
be not here, it will of a certainty be 
reaped hereafter. The justice of the 
universe proclaims this truth with the 
strength of a myriad voices, and those 
who will not hear, deny both truth 
and justice, and even God himself. 
^ From the eternal storehouse of time, 
the days drop like unto splendid jewels 
within the boundless ocean of the past, 
and each day holds a glory of its own ; 
and, sometimes, a light will shine to 
each and all, that will reveal the false 
and true. 

The hermit went out into the world, 
and he bore with him two priceless 
treasures: a wondrous love, which he 
knew was eternal, and a deep, tender 
understanding, that this love had 
touched to an ever-increasing beauty, 
and to an endless growth. ^ From 
82 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


his writings I know he kept his idealism 
to the end. He ever strove to be 
worthy of his love, and ever did his 
love grow stronger with the passing 
years. His first large vision was but 
the threshold of the greater realm of 
thought and sympathy that now encom- 
passed his way. ^ Now he truly 
understood life, and its necessities; its 
beauty, and its dullness — its sordidness 
— its misery, and intensity. His in- 
sight, which before had shown to him 
the frailty of those around him, now 
grew profound enough to reveal his 
own. He was humble in the knowl- 
edge of his weakness, and glad of the 
warm brotherhood he could now feel 
for all his fellows. ^ He could now, 
without shrinking, touch that which 
seemed leprous and loathsome, and 
he could truly pity what seemed hideous 
and vile. ^ He saw that sorrow and 
tears, as well as joy, are a part of God’s 


83 


THE LADY WILADERA 


perfect plan; thus he plucked a flower 
from the brows of grief and he stole 
a joy from the very breast of sorrow. 
^ In all, he beheld God’s plan, more 
often known as destiny, within whose 
vast design the multitudes of creation 
swarm, and build, and pass to make 
a way for other multitudes — ^who eter- 
nally must come — and, having come, 
must in their turn depart. And in 
these myriads he beheld each being as 
a star, whose successive planes of being 
may earn a brighter luster through a 
larger understanding, and an ever 
greater capability for love, unto an 
endless series of perfections, through 
the boundless fields of time and space. 
^ And his love — ah, she was present in 
all the sublime harmony of his life. 
He did not see a beauty that did not 
seem a part of her matchless loveliness, 
and her identity was subtly merged 
in all fragrance and all sweetness. 


84 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


She was all of the strangely wild and 
beauteous past, she was the present, 
and somehow she seemed more than 
what would be the future. Her eyes, 
more beautiful, and deep, and burning, 
than the stars of paradise, would ever 
light his way. He worshipped their 
divine loveliness and depth, and he 
was exalted and lost in their exquisite 
glory and their lovelight. It was a 
nameless joy to love her, and a more 
than precious privilege to be loved by 
her. ^ Ever, she seemed to beckon 
him to his work: it was to translate 
human anguish into peace; to gather 
tears into a silver basin of beauty, 
wherein would shine the radiant face 
of hope; to fashion sorrow to a lovely 
garland, fragrant with immortal prom- 
ise; to strike from death his robes of 
fear, and to reveal him as a tender 
angel, whose kiss charms the weary 
heart to rest, and makes it ready for 
the glorious dawn. 


85 


THE LADY WILADERA 


A gentle sadness sleeps upon the face 
of perfect loveliness, and the sombre 
robes of sorrow are splendid with a 
beauty of their own. Though sordid- 
ness and trouble wait upon the passing 
hours; though misery and the dark 
sit cowled beside a threshold, comfort- 
less and cold; yet is their mournful 
sum a fruitful soil from which will 
spring a lovely garden, whose gentle 
winds are harmony and music; whose 
flowers are fragrance, love and happi- 
ness. ^ Grief is but the other part of 
joy, and both eternally are grafted 
in the scheme of progress — immortal 
opposites are they; yet each is neces- 
sary to the other’s being. ^ Sorrow 
visits every state of being, and each 
soul must learn to see its mission 
and to mold it for immortal benefit. 
^The Present’s joys, or tears, are rooted 
in some cause within the past. The 
Future ever waits, and beckons on- 


86 


AND THE HERMIT EDGAR 


ward; and in its fold there are the 
same, or equal, elements of beauty, 
and of change. The same gentle 
breeze will still kiss the dying sunset’s 
fading lips, and still the myriad stars 
will sweetly gleam like clustered gems 
upon the azure infinite. And ever the 
cool night resting on the tides of sleep 
and the freshly fragrant morn blossom- 
ing as a flower — and ever love, tremu- 
lous with happy tears — and mystic 
death, with outstretched wings, will act 
and re-enact their eternal symphony of 
dreams — of the things that seemingly 
are real, but which in truth are dreams, 
and of the dreams which of a certainty 
are real. 



87 



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